An anguished scream shot through all other noises in the square. Laughter ceased. Babies hushed. Arguments postponed. Where is the midwife? My son is dying, called a man, stumbling across the camp and carrying a boy who had vomit down his shirt.

The children who were playing hide-and-seek deserted the game. Their shadows disentangled behind them as they ran off in different directions to search for the midwife. From her place in the queue, Saba’s eyes roamed the square. The midwife was nowhere to be seen. The camp had no medical centre and so the midwife, who specialized in herbal medicine and basic nursing alongside her usual duties as a midwife, was in constant demand. As she brought life into this world, she was now tasked with sustaining it.

The midwife was the only woman consulted by the committee of elders, and she no longer had to cook, wash or clean. Every patient she treated vowed to her a lifetime of servitude.

I saw her at my neighbour’s hut, his child is ill too, said a man, pointing to the south of the camp, as he joined the queue next to Saba.

No, she is in the north attending a pregnant woman, said another.

But the midwife was already running barefoot towards the sick child. Saba spotted herbal medicine tied in one part of her scarf, and the sand coiling in the air behind her made it seem as if she was transformed into a storm. Saba shut her eyes.

The light-skinned midwife was born to two of the darkest people in their border town. God has forgiven all our sins, her tearful parents declared at her arrival, setting their fair-skinned daughter on a path of strict upbringing. Saba was captivated by the midwife’s green eyes, lush even at times of drought, and by the mole under her nose, the only dark spot on her body that linked her to her parents. But what most astonished young Saba was that the midwife always smelled of fresh incense. She later discovered that the midwife tied frankincense gum in her scarf which she chewed throughout the day and that every evening she draped a thick sheet over herself to bathe in the sandalwood fumes of an incense burner. As well as making her skin glow, the incense made her sweat, increasing her appetite. Her husband had loved her voluptuousness.

The boy didn’t die.

But death came soon after, dressed in yellow.

On the morning of the colourful funeral, Saba and Zahra arrived at Samhiya’s hut to take her with them to fetch wood. Samhiya was filing her nails. Sit on the bed, ladies, this will take me some time, said Samhiya. I still need to paint my nails.

Why? asked Zahra. We are just going to fetch wood.

A city girl has her secrets, Samhiya said, laughing.

Saba gaped around the room and felt as if she had stepped back in time. Samhiya’s hut had two beds, a big mirror, make-up, a wardrobe, shoes, chickpeas, onions, potatoes, shoro, kitchen equipment, knives, a chopping board, cups, plates, coffee-making materials. They too had escaped the war, yet they managed to bring all this.